


disenchanted lullaby

by nilchance



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Jokes, Depression, Gen, POV Second Person, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Sleep Deprivation, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 10:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10384161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance
Summary: Sans doesn't quite believe it yet. Papyrus tries hard enough for both of them. Stars are mostly ignored.





	

The hood of Papyrus's new car makes a great mattress, it turns out. The engine is still ticking quietly from the drive over here, out to a country road where they can see the stars.

"Wowie," Papyrus says again. His quiet is as profound as anything he could say. 

You bump him with your shoulder. "Yeah."

"It's..."

"Yeah."

Papyrus sighs and scoots closer. It's been a long couple days with a lot of political yelling and no sleep; you could probably drop off right here, comforted by the darkness and the rhythm of his breathing. 

But hey, that's what the billion-ounce coffee you brought along is for. Humans really have this caffeine thing figured out. You snag it by the lid while Papyrus grumbles, "If you spill again, you're washing my car."

You don't spill. You finish the cup, plus the three (four?) you've had already today. Your hands are only a little shaky and you can steady them if you concentrate.

It's not that you don't believe Frisk's whispered promise that there will be no more resets, exactly. (Frisk actually used their rusty voice instead of their hands to say it; they want that bad for you to believe them.) It's that you want to nail every moment of this into your skull.

(For when you wake up back in Snowdin.)

(Okay, you don't believe the kid for a goddamn second. It's not personal.)

When you've put the cup safely on the road again, Papyrus nudges you with his elbow. "Anyway," he says, in the breezy way of his where he continues arguments from months ago as he thinks of new things to say. "I didn't cry like a babybones. You're one to talk about crying! When the human took their nap--"

"They passed out, dude."

"You _would_ say that! You were crying too."

You hadn't noticed that. Admittedly, you were a little distracted by stark terror and the relief of not being dead. "Never said I wasn't." 

Papyrus takes a deep breath and continues with false casualness. "Do you remember when we were all in Flowey?"

"Like it was yesterday instead of three whole days ago."

Ignoring your stupid joke, he says, "I could hear what you said to the human."

Your heart kicks like a snare drum. Fuck. You know you heard him, but you were hoping it was a quirk of whatever lets you remember resets. "Puns, huh? Must've been a real nightmare."

"You were..." Papyrus reaches for your hand, tangling his fingers with yours. "You know, you're usually so careful. You're not okay, I know that--"

"Pap."

"Don't," he says, unexpectedly fierce. "I heard you crying like you were falling down, brother. I heard you say that you've given up. It's a little late to tell me you're happy."

"I'm fine." You squeeze his hand. "Nobody's happy all the time."

"I'm not asking you to be. I'm worried that you're more sad than you are happy."

"I'm not usually sad, buddy. I'm..." Numb. Exhausted. But that won't make him any happier to hear, if it makes sense to him at all. Fuck, let him have dodged that genetic bullet. You've never picked up hints that he's got depression, and you've watched for them. Wobbly self-esteem, desperate loneliness, yes. But not depression. "You make me happy."

"I know that too." Papyrus flings a heavy arm across your chest. "I'm a delight."

"You're the best."

"And since I'm so very good at being a person, you should tell me how to help you."

Yeah, he walked you right into that one. "You already help. Just, y'know. Making me do stuff. Being awesome. Taking care of the house like you do."

"You could tell me why you're suddenly refusing to sleep, for a completely hypothetical example."

"Thought you wanted me to sleep less."

"Yes! Well!" Papyrus falls into an embarrassed silence. "I was, er. Not familiar. With. Normal people."

Ah. Read: he sees how much Undyne and Frisk sleep and peer pressure is kicking in. "Where'd you meet a normal person? Do I know them?"

"It's certainly not _you_. Don't change the subject! It's been days. You look tired and I'm not sure that much coffee is good for your heart!"

"Really going for the heart sell there, bro." When he makes a 'hnnnngh' noise, you snicker. "Tugging at my heartstrings. 'S pretty heart to ignore."

"You just made the same joke twice in three sentences."

"You're smiling."

"Ah, I've _heart_ that sleep deprivation makes you hallucinate." His laugh vibrates through your rib cage. "Now that I have softened your defenses with my mastery of puns, you will tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong." His stare drills through the side of your face. Good thing you've got a convenient excuse not to look at him. "It's just. Y'know."

"Clearly I don't, or we wouldn't be having this conversation!" Papyrus bumps his forehead against the side of your skull. Voice is as quiet as it can ever get, he says, "I enjoy puzzles, brother, but it's more fair if they include clues."

He's not going to get off it. He's as stubborn as Annoying Dog with a bone attack, and you hate yourself for your brief spike of resentment. You tell the unblinking stars, "I've had this dream before. The one where we get to the surface and everything's peaches and cream. Makes it hard to trust things. That's all."

"I only know about those nightmares you have. The scream-y ones. Aren't good dreams better?"

"It'd be easier if it was just nightmares." Fuck, you're saying too much, but now that you've started you can't stop. "At least then I'd know what to expect. Getting a happy ending and waking up right where we started..."

"Hm." Papyrus is quiet for a moment, and you can practically hear his brain ticking away. Then he sticks his finger in your earhole.

You jerk away, nearly sliding off the car, and turn your head to stare at him. "What the hell."

"Do you have that dream?" Papyrus asks brightly.

"Nope, that's a new one." You rub your ear. "Wow."

"So clearly this is different!" Papyrus snags you and pulls you back into his side. "And even if it is a dream, when you wake up we'll still be together. So it'll be all right no matter what!"

It must be nice, to have faith like that. You look back at the sky because you don't want him to see your grin slip. "You're so cool. I don't know where you came from."

A puzzled silence. "I thought it was because our parents loved each other very much?"

"Right, right. That's it. Thanks for reminding me."

"You're welcome! What a strange thing to forget." The car rocks as Papyrus rolls onto his back to follow your gaze. Getting restless, but he's already stayed in one place much longer than you really expected. "Do you want me to drive you around for a while? That's supposed to be good for fussy babies who can't sleep."

"Heh. Remember when you were little? I used to carry you around the street and show you all the houses. You wouldn't sleep unless I was talking to you." It was a way to distract him from being hungry. You walked for hours, pretending he was just a sack of dirty clothes, tensed for somebody to try to take him from you. There's a nostalgic haze over those bad old days, because at least he didn't die back then. "You wanted to see everything."

"I knew I was safe with you there." Papyrus says it so easily that it almost isn't a knife in your ribs. For a moment you're holding his scarf in your hands again, gritty dust on the snow. Then he keeps talking, and you're slammed back into the present: the night, the car, the sky. "I'm stronger now. I can carry you until you know you're safe. Even if it takes a long time, I can do that."

There's no such thing as safety. You wish you could give him the same easy trust he gave you. You prop yourself up on your elbows, grimacing happily as your spine cracks in several places. "Driving around, huh."

"Yes. I like driving." Papyrus sits up, patting the car's hood. "And there are a lot of highways to see."

You can give him a couple hours of sleeping, or pretending to sleep, if it makes him happy. And you're out of coffee. "Yeah, okay. You've convinced me."

He beams as bright as the stars. "I won't let you down."

Because it's nice to tell him the unvarnished truth when you can, you say, "You never do."

***

You fall asleep in the passenger seat to the purr of the engine and Papyrus humming snatches of Mettaton jingles. Sleep comes as black and dreamless as dying.

***

When you wake up, groggy and dry-mouthed, Papyrus is still there. The sun is rising but there's no traffic yet. Shame. Papyrus likes traffic; it gives him a chance to meet new people by shouting through their car windows. He takes his mascot job very seriously.

"Hey," you tell him. His attention snaps to you. "Guess I was really tired."

He opens his mouth to say something, gets the joke, and tugs your hood down over your face. "Maybe you're like a parrot and you'll go back to sleep if I put a blanket over your head."

Muffled by the hood, you say, "Knock knock."

"I'm not here. The car is driving itself. It's very advanced."

You pretend he asked 'who's there.' "Cargo."

"Sans, no."

"Car go about sixty miles per hour."

Papyrus groans like he's mortally wounded, but you know if you look, you'll find him smiling.

You're above ground. You're safe. There hasn't been a reset. (Yet.) Four days and counting. 

You don't believe Frisk, and you don't know if you even can. But Papyrus needs you to believe in something, and you can believe in Papyrus wherever and whenever you are.

You can do this. You have to do this.

Squinting against the sunlight, your brother beside you, you keep your eyes on the road.


End file.
